The following entry has been modified since its original publication due to feedback that I received. I hope the edit will help to clear the confusion which accompanied the original version:
I wish I had just put it in an email in the first place. No. Instead, I tried to talk to you and, just like I was a child again, I phrased it in a indecisive way. “Would you be mad at me if I YaYa missed the football game on October 19th?” I could have kicked myself in the head. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted having phased it that way. What is wrong with me?
You didn’t say much. You just asked why YaYa needed to be there since he wasn’t running. It was a simple enough question. The answers swirled in my head but I just held my tongue, and hoped that you could read my mind. Of course you couldn’t. My husband seemed to be the only one who could do that, but even Tom made me work for it.
I didn’t give my real reason for wanting YaYa with me at Nike. I didn’t think that you would understand, and yet I hoped that you would just KNOW. It’s childish, I know. Sadly, it’s true. When you asked if he could stay with a teammate’s family, I only shrugged my shoulders. Then I walked away sort of numb.
Afterward, I began wondering to myself What just happened? Of course, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure it out. As I drove down the street I began wishing I could do a retake. Maybe I’d get it right. Probably not.
I can’t begin to articulate the reasons why YaYa needs to be with me in SF instead of at his football game on October 19th. I am afraid to list the reasons out loud to you. I am afraid that I won’t make sense, or that you won’t understand. Perhaps, I should give you more credit than that. Perhaps, I should at least give you a chance.
Somehow, telling you is scarier than putting it out of the internet for the world to see. The internet cannot see my face. You can. I can cry in front of them, but I don’t want to cry in front of you. After all, I hardly know you…but I would like to get to know you better.